


When You Hold Your Breath

by Chechilia



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Feels, First Kiss, Jealousy, Love Confessions, M/M, Roommates, past character injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-23 16:29:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18553501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chechilia/pseuds/Chechilia
Summary: Coming back to the flat after a night out partying, Merlin doesn't expect Arthur to be waiting for him. He does, however, expect Arthur's anger at his escapade, yet he knows better than to retaliate. Not when Arthur gets like this, hiding distress behind a mask of cruelty.





	When You Hold Your Breath

**Author's Note:**

> Written in the middle of the night, listening to lovely by Billie Eilish. I don't quite know what to make of this one, but I hope you'll like it anyway (and I'd be curious to know how you interpret it, as well). Enjoy <3

Merlin stumbles into the flat with a grimace, wincing at the harsh light that grates his already tired eyes. He hoped Arthur would still be asleep, peaceful in his bed and blissfully ignorant of Merlin's latest escapade : he's dirty, smells of stale sweat and alcohol, and his hair is spiking in all directions, as if daring an actual bird to use it as a nest. He probably looks a bit pathetic right now, which he doesn't really care about, but Arthur tends to lash out when he's angry, and Merlin isn't sure he can face him right now. Not when Arthur is the very reason he went out in the first place, partying with Gwaine, drinking and dancing until the world blurred around him and he could pretend that the blond that kissed him on the dancefloor was his roommate, instead of a faceless stranger.

The blond later brought him home, and Merlin was drunk enough to give in to the siren call of sex, the vain promises of intimacy allowing him to surrender his inhibitions. It was good enough, if he had to guess, but that didn't prevent Merlin from feeling like shit once he woke up in the other's bed, muscles aching from the night and lube dried up on his skin. He took his belongings - clothes, phone and wallet, nothing more - and left before the blond could open his eyes.

Rubbing gingerly at his face, Merlin purposefully ignore the instinct in his guts screaming at him to get out and closes the door instead, as slowly as he can. The glint of the living room's neons and the dull, expectant silence permeating the flat leaves little place to doubt : doing the walk of shame at six in the morning isn't nearly early enough to avoid facing his roommate.

As he expected, he finds Arthur seated on the couch, muscular arms crossed over his broad chest, jaw set in reproach. Merlin feels his heart clench at the sight and quickly looks away, mouth drying at the thought of Arthur waking up for his morning run, finding Merlin missing, and deciding to wait for him, as if he's entitled, as if Merlin's privacy means nothing to him.

He's preparing for the rush of questions, muscles tensing, when he notices that Arthur isn't dressed in his usual morning pajamas. He's wearing his sweatpants and a threadbare t-shirt instead, the very same he wore the day before, and with a jolt Merlin realizes Arthur spent the entire night on the couch. Waiting for him.

And then he sees the empty bottles of beer on the floor at Arthur's feet, and dread settles at the bottom of his stomach.

''You took your time,'' Arthur comments, tone mild, as he rises.

His voice is rough, as if he screamed himself hoarse or didn't speak for days, and Merlin doesn't know which frightens him more. An angry Arthur can be tactless, cruelty dancing at the tip of his tongue, and Merlin's heart is already aching in anticipation.

''I told you I was going out,'' Merlin says carefully. ''I thought you knew not to wait for me.''

Arthur's smile is ugly, and his next words just as much :

''I didn't think you'd get it on, though. I mean, we all know that's not where your talents lie.''

Arthur walks closer and Merlin flinches. He expected the blow, but it doesn't hurt any less to have Arthur dismiss him so easily. He doesn't let the crack spread to his heart, though : he knows Arthur, as much as one can know his best friend and roommate of three years, and there's a foreign shadow in Arthur's gaze, a splinter that speaks of something else than resentment. His words might be callous, but he looks pleading, struggling against himself, and Merlin feels a cold shiver run down his spine.

''You're drunk, Arthur,'' he says as lowly as he can when Arthur gets too close, his eyes bright in the harsh light, his smile slicing up his cheeks.

Arthur laughs and it's like hearing a window shatter in plain night, the impending threat hanging in the air as glass rains to the ground.

''No, I'm not,'' he says pleasantly, though his jaw tightens. ''Believe me, I stopped being drunk hours ago.''

The confession is almost tender in the silence between Merlin's heartbeats. He eyes Arthur, the purple bruises under his eyes, the tendons of his neck playing under fragile skin as he cocks his head to the side :

''I'm sorry,'' he says, though they both know he has nothing to apologize for. ''I thought you'd figure it out.''

He doesn't need to detail what he means, knows Arthur will understand. Sure enough, Arthur's mouth twists as his eyes fall on the hickey darkening the skin under Merlin's ear, the mark damning :

''Yes,'' he says, and the bitterness is evident in his voice, ''I can see how you would have been otherwise occupied.''

The venom there burns Merlin's skin like acid, but he knows better than to answer with the same vitriol :

''Why do you even care?'' he asks tiredly. ''It's not as if you don't get your fair share of conquests.''

That isn't quite true : Arthur stopped bringing anyone home months ago, claiming to be bored with the recurring, tasteless acts of sex. Merlin never asked the true reason, though he was sure Arthur had lied, but it's not here that he can, not now. He's only trying to deflect, there, to direct his stuttering exhales away from the ember that is Arthur's growing fury, so easily fueled.

''I couldn't care less about your conquests,'' Arthur spits out, though the clench of his fists proclaims differently.

He must notice Merlin tensing, then, can't not, not with the step back Merlin takes, his cautious stance or the quick, assessing eyes. His eyes widen fractionally and Merlin nearly flushes in shame, but suddenly Arthur's features soften, the crazed look from before gone from his eyes, and he turns his head away as he says :

''I tried calling you.''

The subdued words are like a slap to the face, and Merlin hears the icy fear laced in them like slow burning poison.

''Oh, Arthur,'' he sighs, and Arthur refuses to look at him, turning abruptly to gather the empty bottles clinging on the wooden floor. His hands shake too much, though, and one of them slips from his hold, a heartwrenching betrayal of Arthur's current thoughts.

''How did you...''

Arthur throws the bottles in the trash, so hard one shatters on impact. He breathes in, breathes out, and grits his teeth to answer :

''Gwaine.''

The name is built on both hatred and relief, and Merlin can suddenly picture, with excruciating clarity, the slow built of terror, the restrained breathing, the desperate phone calls and the panic, underlying every gesture, every hand through hair, every tremble of limb, every shaking dial of the same number, over and over again.

And Merlin knows as well, that the next time he will see Gwaine, Gwaine will have that unreadable look in his eyes, and bite his words as if holding back, fury flickering across his face and dying out in a show of pity. He knows, too, that his knuckles will be bruised and shirtsleeves bloody, though he will refuse to disclose why and won't speak to Arthur for a week.

Arthur's breath comes out in sharp pants, and Merlin just says, stupidly :

''My battery died.''

Arthur lets out a painful laugh, and Merlin's fingers hitch with the urge to soothe, to caress and to hold, but he knows not to get too close, not now that Arthur's utterly bare to him, the abject remnants of fear too tight around him.

''I didn't think to call, I thought you knew,'' he breathes out, helpless and voice a little bit fractured.

''Knew what,'' Arthur rasps out, and his back is to Merlin, but he can't hide the shake of his hands, even like this, ''how much you like to take it and just forget what's around you?''

This times, Merlin takes the abuse without flinching, knows the untold pleas folded under the insult like he knows the ache of his own heart.

''I'm fine, Arthur,'' he murmurs, daring to take a step forward.

''Of course you are,'' Arthur snarls, whipping around, and Merlin feigns not to notice how he wipes the tear tracks on his cheeks. ''He gave it to you well and good, I bet,'' and the words are a stack of needles thrown at Merlin, deliberate, and yet it's a gauntlet Merlin can't refuse to pick up.

''You're being unfair, Arthur,'' he says, words chosen carefully, like a condemned man pleading to revoke the death sentence.

''Unfair,'' Arthur repeats the word, trying it out with a curl of the tongue that make Merlin blanch and his heart seize.

He smiles, and it's a terrifying sight that makes Merlin's blood curdle in his veins, stringing him high, makes him want to beg Arthur to stop, but he can't, not yet, not when Arthur's one step away from ripping apart at the seams.

''How am I being unfair, then, Merlin ?'' Arthur asks, and the lightness in his tone startles Merlin before he sees the color high on his cheeks.

''Arthur,'' Merlin says, voice cracking, and this time it's to protect himself as much as Arthur that he adds :

''I thought you didn't care about my conquests? Or have you forgotten to pretend this time?''

Merlin knows he's playing a dangerous game, knows it like he knows the madness in Arthur's eyes and the wild pounding of his own heart, but the truth is too raw still, too fragile to...

''I don't know, Merlin,'' Arthur replies, and he's laughing again, the sounds stuttering like they're foreign on his tongue - like they're tearing his lungs apart. ''Do I care, you think?''

Merlin swallows his tears as Arthur licks the poison from his lips, and he remembers, can't help not to, the white sheets and the moonlight streaming from the window, Arthur looking like a ghost beside him, so close and out of reach as his limbs were sluggish and Arthur adamantly refused to touch him, eyes roaming over his limp form, flicking toward the machines and the bandages and the morphine, so carefully measured. He remembers the choking insults, the raining blows, the jagged edges of broken glass tearing through his skin.

He remembers what happened the last time he didn't come home and didn't answer his phone, and the answer clogs his throat, laid out bare between them :

''You care too much,'' Merlin murmurs, and Arthur flinches, mouth twisting in denial and acknowledgement both. ''Arthur, why do you care so much?''

The words ''It wasn't your fault'' and ''There's nothing you could have done'' and ''I'm fine, now, I promise'' burn his tongue with the need to remain untold, so painfully useless, but before he has the time to form a proper apology, to placate the storm before it comes, brewing under Arthur's breastbone, he finds himself slammed against the wall, Arthur's body caging him, his face hovering inches from his. His ears ring as he catches Arthur's gaze and holds :

''Why do I care?'' Arthur hisses, words shards of ice that would make his tongue bleed if he didn't spit them out. ''Why do I...''

He presses their foreheads together, and Merlin's too stunned to move, his heart rabbit like in his chest, uneven, because he's seen Arthur before, he's seen him proud and hurt and tender, but this Arthur is none of that and it scares him.

''I almost lost you,'' Arthur breathes out, and then hard lips press against Merlin's own and his thoughts stutter to a halt. Arthur's claims his mouth with a bruising kiss, sharp with teeth and wet with tongue, and it's clumsy, Arthur's body trembling where it's pressed against him, and Merlin's hands hover over Arthur's shoulders, not knowing if he should push Arthur away or pull him in, impossibly closer, until the fear quiets in Arthur's heart, and the panic that claws at his throat recedes, breath by baited breath.

But before Merlin can make sense of the tears sliding down his cheeks, Arthur's pulling away, mouth red and slick with spit, eyes wide and so blue Merlin wants to drown in them, not to face the inevitable crash.

''Fuck.''

The word tugs at Merlin's heartstrings, and they're threatening to snap, unused to the assault, helpless to defend him against something he's never acknowledged least it would break his heart.

''Arthur,'' he says, and can't help to reach out, pleading, as Arthur takes a step back, breathing harsh while Merlin feels like Arthur stole the air from his lungs. ''Please...''

''Merlin, fuck,'' Arthur says again, unaware of the strain - or perhaps not, his lips parted in a lie, and Merlin waits for the blow until he sees, because that's not an Arthur's who's scared or dismissive or disgusted, it's an Arthur who's broken, and Merlin closes his eyes, hard and swallows once.

''Please don't freak out,'' he says, voice barely above a whisper.

But Arthur hears him, of course he does, and he makes an aborted attempt to move away, eyes so wide he looks frightened, before Merlin clutches at his shoulder, choosing to fight, knowing he'll get out of there bleeding but unable to deny the flutter of hope in his chest.

''Arthur,'' he says, and the name is a confession all in itself. ''Please don't freak out. It's okay,'' he swallows and shivers, warmth leeched out of him by the wall at his back and the taste of Arthur on his lips, impossible and wonderful. ''We're okay.''

''Merlin...''

Merlin struggles to hold together the splinters of his heart. He's too close to falling apart, too exposed, and there's an anguish in Arthur's eyes he can't understand, not so close, not when his lungs are begging for oxygen and Arthur still doesn't move away.

''Arthur, I'm...I'm...''

Arthur studies him, his pupils blown wide, and Merlin doesn't dare move, not until his the pain becomes too much and he doesn't have a choice but to voice the words trapped in his chest, knowing Arthur might not forgive them and yet helpless to withhold them.

''I'm in love with you,'' he says, and it feels like a hand is tearing his heart out to present it to Arthur, and he can't stop the shake of his hands, can't hear Arthur's sharp intake of breath over the ringing in his ears, can't even look away from Arthur as the words bloom between them. 

So he surges forward and presses a kiss to his skin, a barely there brush of the lips, fighting to hold his tears when Arthur inevitably turns his head away.

''I know you don't...'' he says, stuttering, ''it's okay, I know you don't...''

''You don't know a damn thing,'' Arthur states then, voice hoarse, as he rests his head on Merlin's shoulder. ''Merlin. Merlin. Merlin.''

He repeats the name like a broken record, and Merlin doesn't understand, can't understand the plea until Arthur raises his head again, looking almost tortured, his agonized breaths a caress on Merlin's exposed skin.

"You don't know a damn thing," Arthur repeats, and this time he exhales slowly, and his features soften, loosening the fear griping at Merlin's lungs.

And then Arthur's lips are pressing against his, warm and soft and sure, and Merlin can finally breathe again.

**Author's Note:**

> When you hold your breath - I can hear your heart beat.  
> Thank you for reading <3


End file.
